Part 3
"You are trespassing on private property, unless you have an appointment, please vacate the premises."
"Listen I do have an appointment, I'm here on behalf of David Wolfe…"
My eyes fluttered open at the sound of Oswald arguing with the disembodied voice from what sounded like an intercom. The car was no longer in motion, and the engine was idling. My body felt like a rag doll that had been tossed around in a dryer, every inch of me felt tender and sore from the hours spent in the trunk. After taking a deep breath I forced myself to sit up, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through my head.
"…please hold," came a robotic voice, interrupting Oswald's protests, leaving him to glare at the dashboard, his knuckles white from his grip on the steering wheel. Despite his obnoxious bravado I got the distinct feeling he wanted to be here as much as I did. The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel the weight of his frustration as he shifted in his seat while waiting for the intercom to crackle back to life.
Looking around, I could see night had descended, shrouding the landscape in an eerie silence. We were currently parked in front of a pair of imposing metal gates, each one tall and gleaming even in the moonlight. They looked like the gates leading to a fortress, definitely not a place anyone would want to be kept against their will. A valley stretched out around us, the mountain ranges rising up in the distance like silent sentinels watching over the pine forest that surrounded us.
We were most definitely in a very secluded area, far from prying eyes and any hope of rescue. Eventually the gates swung open with a mechanical groan, revealing a long, winding driveway that led to a massive building resembling a resort perched on a hillside in the distance. It was the kind of place that screamed opulence and exclusivity, the kind of place that didn't tolerate unannounced visitors.
"Please drive to loading bay three outside building five and wait for further instructions." The intercom's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Oswald grunted but complied and I felt the sedan shift into gear before pulling forward. Following the winding asphalt path deeper into the property, the car's headlights pierced the night, casting eerie shadows across the dense foliage as we drove. The closer we got, the more my heart felt like it was trying to break free from my chest. The anticipation was unbearable, each beat echoing in my ears like a warning drum. The car rolled to a stop beside a large, nondescript building, the only sign of life a single flickering light above a set of large rolling doors. My eyes grew wide with fear, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of my racing thoughts.
"Where the heck am I supposed…ah there it is," Oswald said as a large number three came into view. He steered the car to the designated spot, the tires rolling over the smooth blacktop with a quiet hiss. Finally the car jolted to a stop, the engine dying with a gentle sigh.
"Well darling, we're here," Oswald said with a sneer, his grip loosening on the steering wheel. With his arm on the passenger seat he turned to look at me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of weariness and relief. "You gonna keep quiet when they come to get you or do I need to put the gag back in?"
In a meek voice I almost never use, I whispered, "I'll be good." It was a promise I didn't intend to keep, but for now, it was the key to survival. The fear was a living creature in my stomach, writhing and clawing, but I knew better than to let it show on my face.
Oswald's eyes widened in surprise. "For your sake, I hope so," he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of nervousness as he stared past me. My eyes followed his gaze to see two burly men dressed in all black, each with a submachine gun slung over their shoulder, heading towards us with a purposeful stride.
Oswald's hand reached for the window button, his thumb pressing down with a decisive click. The cool night air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of pine and the faint tang of something metallic that sent a shiver down my spine. Watching the men approach, with their faces hidden in the shadows cast by the car's headlights, I felt like a wild animal caught in the crosshairs of a hunter's rifle.
"I.D. please." The first man's gruff voice cut through the tension as he leaned into the window, his hand outstretched. Oswald, his jaw tight, fished out his wallet and slapped it into the man's palm. The guard took it without a word, his eyes flicking to me briefly before scanning the ID before gesturing to the large bay door. "When the door opens, pull in and wait for further instructions."
"Can I get my ID back?" Oswald asked tersely as the man walked away, "Guess not."
"You'll get your I.D. back once we've verified everything," the second guard said, his voice low and steady, his eyes never leaving Oswald. The way he spoke, so calmly, sent a chill down my spine. It was clear that this wasn't his first time handling a situation like this.
"Right, well-" Oswald stopped whatever he was going to say as the large bay door began to grind open, revealing the inky blackness within. The headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating a spotless cement floor and gleaming steel walls. It was like any other loading bay, but the sterility of it all was unsettling.
I bit my lip as Oswald put the car into gear, my eyes darting between the guard next to us and the one inside the bay, both watching us intently. As we rolled forward, the guard at the car door stepped aside, his gun never leaving his side, and the first guard, the one who had taken Oswald's ID, held a small device up to the car, scanning it as we drove inside.
The bay door rumbled closed behind us, cutting off the night. The darkness was absolute, until a row of harsh, fluorescent lights flickered to life. The walls of the bay were lined with industrial shelving, holding an array of tools and supplies that I couldn't quite make out. The air was stale, tinged with the scent of metal and oil. What stood out to me amidst the shadows were the double doors at the far end, and a pair of gleaming silver elevator doors straight ahead of us.
"Step out of the car," the second guard instructed once Oswald shut off the engine, his voice cutting through the silence like a hot knife. Oswald complied, his movements stiff as he stepped out into the bright lights, leaving me alone in the car. The first guard approached the car, his hand on his gun.
"So, uh…how long will this take?" Oswald's voice was tight with anxiety as he stepped aside, allowing the first guard to open the car door opposite me. I took a shaky breath, the leather of the seat sticking to my sweat-drenched skin as the second guard moved in, his eyes looking me up and down before shutting the door once more.
"Not long," the second guard replied, his eyes never leaving me through the window.
The sound of Oswald's foot tapping an erratic rhythm on the cement floor was either a metronome of anxiety or annoyance, of which I couldn't quite say. The sound grated against my frayed nerves, each tap echoing through the cold, sterile bay like a ticking time bomb. Leaning back I took a deep, slow breath, I had to stay strong, because from the looks of things, there was no way I'd likely escape from here, not without a miracle.
"So, you guys enjoy your job, ya know helping selling young, desperate souls into…whatever this place is?" Oswald's voice cracked the silence like a whip.
"Sir, I don't think that's an appropriate question," the first guard said, his voice stern as he stepped closer to the car. His eyes narrowed at Oswald, the gun still gripped in his hand, "Especially given what's in your backseat."
"Hey let's get one thing straight," Oswald gruffed out, "I'm only doing this for two reasons, one my boss is a scary motherfucker."
"And two…" the second guard began, his voice trailing off as he stepped closer to the car, his gaze never leaving Oswald.
"That gold digging, two-timing, pretentious little cunt in the backseat deserved to be taken down a peg or two," Oswald sneered, his voice echoing off the steel walls of the loading bay. The first guard, a man with a buzz-cut and a face carved from granite, raised an eyebrow at the comment.
It was killing me not to speak up, to defend myself, but I knew that any words would be twisted and used against me. The rage boiled in my chest, but I kept my mouth shut, my eyes focused on the elevator doors. The thought of speaking, of fighting back, was like a siren's song, but I knew better than to try as it would only likely make my situation worse.
The first guard looked like he was about to say something when the elevator doors parted with a soft hiss. A woman emerged from the elevator, her red hair pulled back into a sleek high ponytail that swished behind her like a fiery tail. Her lithe figure was sheathed in a suede coat that fell to her knees, cinched at the waist to accentuate her hourglass curves. Peeking out from her coat were a pair of black latex gloves and thigh-high six inch high heeled boots with a shiny vinyl finish that reflected the harsh lights of the elevator behind her. The boots clicked against the concrete floor with a rhythmic confidence that seemed to echo through the space.
I could see the flicker of something dark and primal in Oswald's eyes as he watched the red-haired woman approach, the same hunger that had haunted me in the cabin. It was a fleeting glance, a split second of pure desire, but it was unmistakable. His gaze lingered on her with the same intensity he had once reserved for me, a predator eyeing his prey. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced with a practiced neutrality.
"David Wolfe…that's not a name I hear often anymore, nonetheless it's the only reason a private investigator such as yourself Mr. Tarneski would be granted entrance," the woman said coolly, holding up Oswald's ID. She had a sharp jaw and a set of piercing green eyes that seemed to bore into him as she spoke, "Now, why don't you tell me what you're doing here."
"You know it's rude not to introduce yourself," Oswald quipped, trying to maintain his bravado as the woman's eyes remained unflinching, holding his ID like it was a grenade with the pin already pulled. "But, since I'm here on orders…Mr. Wolfe had me bring you a gift, she's sitting in the backseat."
The red-haired woman's eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to the car, her heels echoing against the floor like the beat of a drum signaling the start of a dance of power. She leaned down, her eyes meeting mine through the open driver's side window and for a moment, something in her gaze softened, a flicker of curiosity piercing the cold shield she had built around herself. "A gift, huh?" she said, her voice dripping with skepticism.
"Yes, a very special one," Oswald said, his voice thick with a smugness that made me want to spit in his face.
"She's certainly a beauty, although she definitely looks a little…worn out." The woman's gaze lingered on me, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. Was she assessing my value or contemplating my fate?
"It was a long two day drive and she was…a handful at times," Oswald smirked, his eyes shifting back to me in the rear seat.
"Who is she?" the red-haired woman asked, her eyes lingering on me as if I were a prize to be won.
"Cassandra Wolfe, David's soon to be ex-wife," Oswald said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he stepped back from the car, his hand sliding into his pocket.
"His wife?" The woman said surprise flickering across her face before it was quickly replaced by another thought, "Wait, are you saying you made it all the way here in two days, from…without getting caught?"
"Yes," Oswald said with a smug smile, "I've had a bit of experience with…staying out of sight."
"Hmm…tell me Mr. Tarneski, how much does David pay you for this…service?" The red-haired woman's question hung in the air, her eyes narrowed as she assessed Oswald.
"Before you get any ideas Ms…" Oswald said, raising an eyebrow.
"Fox, Lydia Fox and it's Mrs," the red-haired woman said, her voice sharp as a knife.
"Well Mrs. Fox, this is a one time deal, I've done some…morally questionable things for Wolfe in the past, but this was a one-time gig," Oswald said, his hand still in his pocket, the smirk never leaving his lips.
It was utterly surreal listening to the exchange between Oswald and Mrs. Fox, feeling as if I were nothing more than a commodity to be bartered and sold. My body, still bound and bruised from the hogtie, seemed to shrink into the leather seats, as if trying to escape the reality that was unfolding before me. The smug look on Oswald's face as he spoke of my condition was like salt in the wounds of my pride, like a painful reminder of how far I had fallen from the life of luxury I had known just two short days ago.
"Too bad, we're always in need of someone that knows how to be…discreet." Mrs. Fox said, her voice a cocktail of amusement and scrutiny. "But alright, let's see this gift your boss sent me."
With a snap of her gloved fingers, Mrs. Fox gestured for the guards to remove me from the car. I leaned back as one of the guards stepped towards the car, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he opened the back door. His grip was like iron as he reached inside and gripped me by my elbows and yanked me out of the car. I felt like a ragdoll, limp and useless as he hauled me out and set me on my bound legs.
"Bring her here," Mrs. Fox ordered, her eyes never leaving me as the second guard joined the first and hoisted me between them like a piece of luggage. The leather cuffs bit into my arms and legs, the pain keeping me anchored in reality as I was paraded before her like some kind of trophy.
Setting me down before her, Mrs. Fox's gaze raked over me like a hot knife through butter. She was meticulous in her inspection, her latex-gloved hands moving from my bruised shoulders to my swollen wrists, her eyes taking in every inch of my exposed skin with a hunger that made me feel like a piece of meat on display. The coldness of her touch sent shivers down my spine as she poked at my sore breasts, watching with detached curiosity as they jiggled with the slightest touch.
"Hmm, all natural," Mrs. Fox murmured, her eyes lingering on my chest. Her fingers traced the lace around my breasts, the material sticking to my skin. I flinched at her cold touch as her finger tugged at the rings going through my nipples, my breath hitching as she leaned in closer, her hot breath fanning over my neck. "A lovely set of piercings as well," She was so close that I could feel the heat from her body, smell the faint scent of her perfume, a heady mix of leather and musk that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge.
"Key…" Mrs. Fox said, holding her hand out to Oswald while never taking her eyes off me. Oswald fished the key from his pocket, his gaze flicking to the guards before passing it to her. She took it with a gloved hand, her eyes never leaving me, and I soon felt the leather loosen around my elbows, knees and ankles. The relief was immediate, my limbs screaming in protest as blood rushed back to them, bringing with it a fresh wave of pain.
My relief transformed into humiliation as I felt the straps of my bra and panties fall away as the woman produced a knife out of nowhere. My breath hitched as my nipples immediately hardened around my piercings from the sudden cold and the realization of my complete exposure. The two guards didn't even spare me a glance as Mrs. Fox continued to take her sweet time inspecting every inch of my skin, her eyes focused on a number of bruises that lingered from my ride in the trunk.
She poked and prodded, her eyes assessing every inch of my bare skin as if I were livestock at an auction. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she cupped my bald pussy, her fingers lingering a beat too long. "No permanent damage, I hope?" she murmured, her voice a soft caress that sent shivers down my spine.
Mrs. Fox leaned in closer, her nose almost touching mine as she studied the bruise on my forehead. She traced the swollen skin with the tip of her finger, sending a jolt of pain through me that was almost unbearable. "This looks recent," she said, her gaze flicking to Oswald before returning to me, "How did this happen?"
Oswald shrugged nonchalantly. "A little…mishap during the drive," he said, his voice devoid of any concern.
"She looks dehydrated," Mrs. Fox said, her voice sharp as she snapped her fingers. One of the guards rushed and grabbed a bottle of water before bringing it over to me. He held the bottle up to my lips, I hesitated for a moment before greedily sipping the cool liquid, my eyes never leaving hers. She watched me intently as I drank, her gaze never wavering.
"Well since she was David's wife I expect she's trained, yes?" Mrs. Fox said, her eyes never leaving me as she spoke to Oswald. The question hung in the air, thick and heavy with meaning.
"Trained, yes…obedient, not so much," Oswald said with a smirk, his eyes flicking down to my exposed breasts before meeting Mrs. Fox's gaze. "But she's got the spirit, she'll learn I'm sure."
It was the last straw. The way they talked about me, like I was some kind of object to be bought and sold, like my will didn't matter. I couldn't take it anymore. With a snarl, I spat the water in my mouth right at Oswald's face, the droplets splattering against his cheek and the front of his shirt. The guard holding the bottle jerked back in surprise, dropping it to the floor where it rolled away, leaving a small puddle of water.
"Fuck you, you prick!" I screamed, the water droplets hanging in the air like a declaration of war. The guards tightened their grips on my arms, but I didn't care. The fear had turned into fury, and I was going to burn this place down with my words if I couldn't do it with my hands. "Who do you people think you are?!"
Mrs. Fox snapped her fingers again, and before I could utter out another single curse I tasted rubber once more as one of the guards jammed a ball-gag into my mouth, muffling my protests. The force was so unexpected that my eyes watered and I gagged around the intrusion, my throat constricting around it. The world around me blurred as the guard buckled the strap around my head, the cool leather biting into my skin and silencing my fury.
"I see what you mean…still a natural all American bombshell like this one will fetch a good price." Mrs. Fox said, her voice cold and calculating as she stepped back, allowing the guards to hold me up as I struggled against the sudden intrusion of the gag.
Oswald wiped the water off his face with the back of his hand, his smirk fading into a scowl. "Look, I've done my job, I brought her here. Now, can I get paid and leave?" His voice was edgy, desperate to be free of the situation.
Mrs. Fox raised an eyebrow. "Patience, Mr. Tarneski," she said, her tone icy. "First things first. Guards, sedate her and get her down to medical so the doctor there can give her a full assessment. I'll be down shortly once I'm done discussing payment with Mr. Tarneski here."
"Well darling, it seems like our little adventure has come to an end," Oswald said with a smirk, wiping the last droplets of water from his face with the back of his hand. The two guards holding me tightened their grips as Mrs. Fox nodded to them, confirming the next steps of my degradation. "But I'm sure you'll find your rightful place in the world wherever you end up."
With that touching send-off from Oswald, one of the guards reached behind my neck, and the cold steel of a needle pierced my skin, sending a shiver of fear down my spine. The liquid inside the syringe felt like ice water as it entered my body, sending a numbness that began to spread through my veins.
My limbs grew heavier with every heartbeat, and I could feel the world around me start to spin. The lights in the bay grew dimmer, the harshness of their grip on my arms the only thing keeping me upright as the drug took hold of me. As the numbness spread, the edges of my vision turned into a thick black fog, creeping in like the nightfall.
My head was pounding, pounding so hard that it caused me to flinch and when I opened my eyes next, the pain from the bright lights above was like someone had slapped me across the face with a neon sign. The world swam around me as I tried to focus, the sterile white walls of the room spinning like a tornado of cold, antiseptic hell. The smell of disinfectant stung my nose, burning the back of my throat as I swallowed hard against the dryness.
For a brief moment I thought I was in a hospital, and that the whole ordeal had been a terrible nightmare. But the cold, unforgiving reality slapped me in the face as the fog of the sedative lifted. The room wasn't filled with the comforting hum of machines or the gentle beeping of a heart monitor. Instead, it was eerily quiet, save for the distant echo of footsteps on the hard floors outside and the occasional hiss of air from the vent above me. The sterile smell of the room was thick with a hint of something else, something metallic and unwelcoming.
But it was the medical grade restraints that really drove home the fact that this wasn't a hospital. The fleece lined leather cuffs were soft yet unyielding as I tugged with my wrists and ankles against the sides of the gurney I was laying on. The woozy feeling from the sedative was slowly receding, and the coldness of the room was seeping into my skin, making me shiver despite the warmth of the sedative wearing off.
As my vision cleared, I noticed the array of medical instruments laid out on a tray beside the gurney, gleaming under the harsh lights. The sight of them made my stomach churn, a reminder of the horrors that awaited me. I felt bandages around my knees, elbows and throat, no doubt hiding viscous bruises and raw skin left by the restraints that once held me captive on our journey here. The bump on my forehead pulsed with a steady beat of pain, the cooling patch a mockery of comfort in this nightmare.
My feet had the most extensive bandages, wrapping from the base of my toes to my heels, both my pinky and big toes were individually cocooned in a protective layer of gauze. The sensation was claustrophobic, as if they were bound by a silent plea to stay still. I could feel the stickiness of the medical tape against my skin, a constant itch that I couldn't satisfy as it taunted me with its presence.
I licked my chapstick coated lips as I took in the final piece, which was the IV I was hooked up to, the needle in my forearm being held in place by a piece of tape that was already starting to peel away. The fluid dripped in a rhythmic pattern, the clear liquid a stark contrast against my bruised skin. I had no idea what was in that bag, but I only hope it was nothing more than a simple saline solution.
With a grunt of frustration, I tested the strength of the restraints, my wrists straining against the leather cuffs that were latched to the metal frame of the gurney. I tried to ignore the way the leather creaked and stretched with every movement, eventually a feeling of powerlessness grew stronger with every failed escape attempt. The cuffs held fast, refusing to budge even a centimeter. I could feel the ache in my arms spread to my shoulders as I pulled, my muscles screaming in protest.
Laying my head back down I let out a breath as I gave up my efforts to escape. My arms and legs felt like jelly, the aftermath of the sedative leaving me drained of any fight I had left. Licking my lips I was suddenly aware of how parched I was, the dryness sticking to my teeth as if I had been chewing on sandpaper.
Just then, the door to the room swung open, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. A man entered, his white dress shirt crisp and clean. A black vest hugged his broad chest and a stethoscope was casually draped around his neck, the metal cold and gleaming. His hair was a dark brown, trimmed short and neat, giving him a clean-cut look that was only slightly marred by the stubble lining his jaw. His eyes, a piercing blue, took in the scene before him, his gaze lingering on my exposed body before finally settling on my eyes.
"Ah slave, good to see you're awake, you've been unconscious for nearly 12 hours now," the doctor said, his voice as cold as the metal instruments he handled with precision. His eyes flicked over me, a predator assessing its prey.
I opened my mouth to protest, but the doctor raised a hand to silence me. "Save your breath, slave," he said, his voice as sharp as the scalpel he picked up from the tray. "Your fate was sealed the moment you were brought here. My job is to ensure that you remain in good health for our clients' satisfaction, not to offer you any comfort or aid."
Seeing no reason to bite my tongue, I spat out the first thing that came to mind, the anger still burning within me. "How can you call yourself a doctor when you help these monsters do this to women?"
He smirked, the gleam in his eyes sending a shiver down my spine. "Because these monsters as you call them, they pay me very well," the doctor said, his voice as smooth as silk. "And as a little bonus, they've even seen fit to gift me my own personal little…slave girl." His gaze raked over me, his eyes lingering on my breasts before meeting mine again, the smugness in his expression clear. "What more could a man in my position want?"
"Asshole…" I murmured as the 'doctor' began unwrapping my bandages, applying creams and re-wrapping them with a cold detachment. His touch was clinical, his eyes never meeting mine, as if I was nothing more than a lab rat to be poked and prodded.
"Well, outside of a few small blisters on your feet which should be healed in a day or two, everything seems to be in order," the doctor said, his voice as detached as his eyes remained on my naked form. "I'll be sure to tell Mrs. Fox you'll be good for training assessment by tomorrow evening."
The mention of Mrs. Fox sent a chill down my spine. Training assessment? What the hell did that mean? I knew it couldn't be good. The doctor finished his exam and stuck a needle into my IV drip, adding something that made me feel drowsy again.
"You'll heal quicker if you're not awake to fight it," the doctor said as the world around me grew fuzzy. "It's for your own good, really."
"…bastard…" I breathed out as the doctor left the room, the sedative already weaving its way through my system, making my eyelids heavy. I didn't know what was in that bag of fluids, but I knew it wasn't going to help me escape. I had to get out of here. The thought was a desperate mantra in my mind as the darkness claimed me again.
"Make sure those restraints aren't too tight," Mrs. Fox's voice pierced the veil of my unconsciousness. "We don't want more marks on her than necessary."
My eyelids fluttered open just as I felt the coolness of leather wrapping around my throat and wrists, the latter of which had been pulled behind my back and secured in a tight lock that sent a jolt of stiffness through my shoulders.
"Looks like she's waking up, perfect timing," Mrs. Fox's voice was as smooth as a silk scarf sliding over skin, and it sent a shiver down my spine as I blinked my eyes open. The light in the room was dimmer than before, and the shadows danced around the edges of my vision, playing tricks on my exhausted mind.
"Slave…slave!" *snap snap* fingers echoed through the air as Mrs. Fox's voice grew more urgent. "Look at me when I speak to you!"
Everything came into focus as Mrs. Fox's fingers snapped in front of my face. She was dressed in a tight, black catsuit, a leather underbust corset and a pair of black rubber thigh high heeled boots with a platform sole that made her legs seem endless. A riding crop swung casually from her hand, the leather tail slapping against the side of her thigh as she moved. Her red hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swished with each step she took around me, and her eyes were cold, like the gleaming chrome of a knife blade.
Looking beyond her I realized I was no longer in the medical bay, but rather in a cavernous room that screamed of wealth and depravity. The walls were lined with racks holding an assortment of whips, floggers, and paddles, each one more terrifying than the last. The floor was a cold, gleaming black that reflected the dim, flickering light from the candles scattered around the room, casting dancing shadows across the walls. The smell of leather and something faintly metallic filled my nose, a heady mix that made my stomach churn.
The room was similar to David's secret room, only on a much grander scale. It was like a playground for the depraved, with every imaginable tool of restraint, torture and pleasure displayed neatly on the walls and racks around us. When I looked back at Mrs. Fox she was no longer standing in front of me, but walking around the room, her eyes scanning the various instruments as if she were in a candy store, her eyes lighting up at each new discovery. She paused at a rack that held an assortment of whips, stroking the riding crop with a leather-wrapped handle she held in her hand, a sadistic smile playing on her lips.
"Do you like my training room, I've been thinking about remodeling actually, it gives off too much of a warm fuzzy feeling don't you think?" Mrs. Fox asked, her tone mocking as she turned to look at me. The riding crop she held snapping through the air, the leather end cutting through the silence like a gunshot. I flinched at the sound, the leather slapping against her palm echoing around the room like a taunt.
"Well slave?" Mrs. Fox's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, her eyes gleaming as she twirled the crop in her hand. "Do you like what you see?"
I took a deep breath, the leather biting into my throat as I spoke, "Looks like a sadist playground," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Ooooh, tsk, tsk, tsk, sounds like you still haven't accepted your new role," Mrs. Fox said, her smile widening. "Well allow me to enlighten you on a few things," she took a step closer, the crop still twirling in her hand. "This is not a playground, this is where I will test you on how well you've been trained, if you meet expectations you will be sold to a master or mistress at auction."
"…and if I don't meet expectations?" I croaked out, the words sticking to my dry throat like sandpaper.
Mrs. Fox smiled a cruel, predatory smile, her teeth gleaming in the candlelight as she walked in my direction in a slow saunter, "Then you will be sold with the rest of the 'untrainables' in a silent auction we throw, it's mostly brothel owners from South America or the Philippines, maybe the odd master or mistress who enjoy breaking the spirit of women themselves." She was now close enough that I could feel her hot breath against my face, "Either way your days of sipping latte's and spending your husband's money are over," she leaned in closer whispering into my ear, "now you're just another piece of meat for the grinder."
With that she stepped back and gestured to the two guards who had been silently watching the scene unfold. They grabbed me roughly under the arms and pulled me off the gurney, the sudden movement sending a bolt of pain through my tender and battered body. The room spun as I tried to get my bearings, my legs wobbly and unsteady from the lack of use over…however long I'd been kept sedated.
A jerk to my collar brought me nose to nose with Mrs. Fox as the two guards held me upright, my legs still refusing to cooperate. Her breath was minty, a contrast to the coppery tang of fear that filled my mouth. She leaned in, her red lips mere millimeters from my own, and whispered, "I don't tell you all of this just to be nice, I tell you all of this to give you something you'll never have again… a choice. So take and follow my commands for a chance at living in the lap of luxury as a pet…or disobey me and spend the rest of your miserable little life as a cumdumpster in some far off land."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. The choice was as clear as the reality of my situation, but I was also presented with another problem, David had put me through 'training' as she called it. However I'd never actually devoted myself to it, I'd mostly just played along because I was in love with him and the life he provided for me at the time. Now faced with a woman who was not just my husband's equal but likely his superior in this twisted world, I realized I didn't know the first thing about truly pleasing a master or mistress.
"Take her to the assessment area." My bandaged feet, the only part of me that still had medical wrap, shuffled painfully across the cold floor as the guards dragged me towards the center of the room.
As they released their grip and the lock keeping my cuffs together was removed, I remained still, frozen by the chilling words of Mrs. Fox. The red mat under me felt like the floor of a slaughterhouse and I was the trembling lamb, awaiting the butcher's blade. I watched as Mrs. Fox approached, the crop in her hand a silent promise of pain and degradation.
"Let's begin shall we, slave get down on your knees," Mrs. Fox's voice was a sultry command that sent a shiver down my spine.
My knees hit the cold, unforgiving floor with an audible thump, the pain shooting up through my legs and into my back. The mat beneath me was surprisingly soft, the cushion the only comfort I had as I stared up at Mrs. Fox with a mix of defiance and fear.
"Wipe that look off your face," Mrs. Fox ordered, her voice a whip crack in the tense silence. "You're here to serve, not to question."
"Yes, mistress," I murmured, swallowing my pride. The words tasted like bitter poison on my tongue, but survival instinct overrode my dignity.
Mistress Fox as I would now think of her in my head, narrowed her eyes at my less than enthusiastic response but said nothing. Instead, she raised the riding crop and pointed it at me. "Good, now spread your legs," she instructed, her voice as cold and unforgiving as the steel in the crop’s handle.
I obeyed, my legs shaking as I spread them apart. The air was thick with tension, the anticipation of pain making my heart race. The crop hovered in the air for what felt like an eternity before it rested back inside her palm.
"Hands on your thighs, knees touching," came the next command, and I complied, feeling the leather of my wrist cuffs rest against my skin. Mistress Fox began to pace around me, the crop still in her hand as she took in the sight of my bound and exposed form. "What stance is this?"
The question threw me off guard and I raced through my memories to remember the answer. What had David taught me about submission postures? My thoughts swirled like a tornado, each one more terrifying than the last. "It's called 'the nadu', Mistress," I murmured, hoping my voice didn't betray the tremble in my body.
Mistress Fox's smile was slow and deliberate, a cat watching a mouse, "Wrong," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. The crop whistled through the air and made contact with my outer thigh, a line of fire burning across my skin. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, the pain a reminder that my days of playing at obedience were over.
"What sort of master or mistress will want a slave who can't even remember a simple stance as the tower position?" Mistress Fox's words cut through the air like a knife, slicing into my already fragile ego. The sting on my thigh grew, a fiery brand of pain that I knew would leave a mark. The crop hovered above me, the threat of another strike palpable.
"But I'm not heartless, so I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself," Mistress Fox said, her voice like a serpent's hiss. "Assume the 'humble' position," she instructed, her eyes boring into mine with a challenge.
The position was very familiar to me. It was one David had often forced me into during his punishment sessions. I bent my body forward, my stomach resting on my knees, my hands stretched far out in front of me, palms flat on the mat, my face touching the floor. I took shallow breaths, the scent of leather from the mat and my own fear mingling in the air. My breasts hung heavily, my pierced nipples brushing the ground with every inhale.
"Yes, I had a feeling you would be familiar with that one," Mistress Fox's voice was like velvet as she walked around me, her heels clicking against the floor with every step. "It seems your husband had quite the…hands on approach to your training. Perhaps had you listened better, you wouldn't be in this position."
I bit my lip in anger and pain as Mistress Fox's words sank in. This wasn't a simple test of my physical endurance; it was a psychological game designed to strip me of any semblance of control. The 'humble' position was a staple in David's twisted routine, a way for him to assert his dominance and leave me feeling utterly powerless. Now, here I was, in a room that mirrored the hell I'd endured in my own home, but this time, I had no escape, no end in sight to the degradation.
"Nothing to say?" Mistress Fox said, sounding disappointed, as if she had been expecting a challenge. "Well, let's proceed then," she continued, her voice a mix of excitement and malicious glee.
"Assume the waiting position." Taking a deep breath, I stood up, keeping my feet spread apart and placing my wrists behind my back, ready to accept whatever was coming. This was also a very familiar stance as David often started his sessions with it. The anticipation of pain was almost as torturous as the pain itself, but I knew better than to argue.
"Let's see how much pain you can handle, shall we?" Mistress Fox's voice was a chilling whisper, sending a shiver down my spine as she circled me like a shark around its prey. "Jeffery, fetch me a pair of weighted nipple clamps, please."
One of the guards nodded, disappearing into the shadows before returning with the requested item. He handed them to her with a smirk that made my stomach drop. The clamps were shiny chrome, with a screw mechanism that was normally meant to bite into sensitive flesh. Mrs. Fox took them with a graceful flick of her wrist, her eyes never leaving mine as she approached.
Luckily or unluckily, I already had pierced nipples and it was unnecessary to clamp them, so instead Mistress Fox placed the clamp around the ring already there, twisting it tightly. The pain was intense, a hot vice gripping my tender flesh as the weights pulled down.
"Ahhh," I gasped, the sound echoing through the room as Mistress Fox pulled on the clamp. My eyes watered and my teeth clenched, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the pain grew more intense.
"Hardly worth squelching about, how disappointing," Mistress Fox said with a tsk, her eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement as she attached a chain to the clamps and gave it a gentle tug before letting it hang. "Let's see if you can hold your tongue when I really start to play."
The weights on my nipples began to feel heavier, the pain more pronounced as she started to walk around me, her eyes scanning my body like a sculptor deciding where to make their next cut. Each step she took echoed in the cavernous room, the only other sound was the occasional jingle of the chain attached to my clamps. With every step, she'd bring her crop down in a swift arc, connecting with my ass or thighs, the impact leaving a trail of fire across my skin.
I did my best to hide the pain, my teeth clenched so tightly I thought they'd shatter. I focused on my breathing, trying to keep my body relaxed and my cries to a minimum, but it was a losing battle. My moans grew louder, my breaths more ragged, and my body began to shake with each new strike. Yet, even as the pain grew, I knew that my performance was lacking. Fox wasn't fooled, she could see the truth in my eyes, in every tremor of my body.
"Well you certainly lack the endurance of a well-trained slave," Mistress Fox mused, her crop resting against my tender thigh. "But, a willingness to learn can sometimes be more valuable."
Then she said it…
"Good girl," suddenly every memory of David using those words began flashing through my head, the way he'd say it after a particularly painful session, the way it was meant to be a reward for my endurance of his sick games. The anger boiled in my stomach like molten lava, my cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and humiliation.
Before I knew what I was doing, my hand shot out, slapping Mistress Fox across the face. The sound of the impact was a resounding crack in the silence, echoing off the walls of the assessment room. The guards stared at me, shocked by my outburst, but I didn't care. I went at her again only this time she was ready, she caught my wrists in her hands. "That was a mistake, slave," she said, her grip tightening around my wrists, "and it'll cost you dearly, Jeffrey, Dominic, take her to the cattle holding cells."
The two guards, Jeffrey and Dominic, moved swiftly, each one taking an arm and wrenched them behind my back. A cold, metallic click echoed through the room as the cuffs locked into place. I struggled, my eyes wide with fury, trying to pull away from their vice-like grips. The pain from the tight clamps on my nipple rings flared with every movement, sending bolts of agony through my body.
When one of them pulled out a bright red ball-gag, the fight in me left and I tried to backtrack. "No, please, I'll behave," I pleaded, but the words fell on deaf ears as the rubber ball was shoved into my mouth, the taste of rubber coating my tongue. The guards' grip on my arms was unyielding, and the moment the gag was secured with a buckle at the back of my head, muffling my cries, a surge of panic filled my chest.
That panic only intensified as I was dragged out of the room and down one of the many underground halls of the complex, the sound of my own muffled screams echoing through the cold corridors. Each step was agony as the chain connected to the nipple clamps pulled tight, the weights swinging back and forth with every jolting movement. I struggled against the guards, my feet barely touching the floor as they carried me through the labyrinth of the facility, their grips like iron manacles on my arms.
Finally, we arrived at a guarded door with two men flanking the doorway. They eyed us with a mix of curiosity and boredom, but the sight of the two guards was all the authority needed to have them step aside. The door was made of thick steel, with a small window at the top that allowed a sliver of light to cut through to the otherside. As it swung open, a blast of cold, stale air hit me, and I knew that the warmth of the training room was a distant memory.
We entered a long, narrow corridor with steel cells lined up on either side, each one a cage with a single mattress on the floor and a metal toilet in the corner. The walls were made of concrete, painted a sickly gray that seemed to leech the color from the air itself. Each cell was barred, with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, casting a harsh, flickering light that created a strobe effect on the cobwebs that clung to the corners.
As the guards marched me down the aisle, I couldn't help but catch glimpses of the other women in the cages. Each one had a black leather collar around her neck, the same as the one I now wore against their various skin tones. Their eyes bore into me, some filled with anger and defiance, others with a defeated acceptance that sent a shiver down my spine. Most were naked, their bodies bruised and marked with the signs of their own training sessions. Some were dressed in outfits that were more suited for a strip club or a street corner than a place of captivity.
My cell was at the very end, the metal bars cold and unforgiving as they scraped against my skin as I was shoved inside. The floor was slick with something wet and sticky, and the smell of fear and bodily fluids hit me like a sledgehammer. The mattress was a sad excuse for a bed, stained with God-knows-what and barely thick enough to offer any comfort from the concrete beneath it.
*Clang!*
The sound of the metal door slamming shut echoed through the damp cell, the finality of it hitting me like a cold shower. The guards had tossed me inside like a rag doll, the force of their throw making me stumble and fall onto the disgusting mattress. The smell of stale piss and fear hung in the air like a toxic fog, making me gag around the ball gag.
"Such a disappointment, but you brought this on yourself," Mistress Fox said with a sigh, her voice carrying through the bars as the guards stepped away, leaving me alone in my new prison.
My eyes followed her retreating figure, pleading with her through the red ball lodged in my mouth. As Mistress Fox disappeared from view, the hope of escape flickered and dimmed like a candle in a hurricane. I had just lost the one person who had the power to decide my fate, and I knew the price for my rebellion would be steep.
"Psst…hey, blondie, you okay?"
The whisper startled me out of my despair. I craned my neck and looked through the bars to my left. A woman with buzzed black hair and a bruised face was leaning against the bars of her cell. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, studied me with a mix of curiosity and concern. The red ball in my mouth made speaking impossible, so I nodded weakly in response.
"Well, at least your not alone, they snatched me right off the corner I'd been working for days," she said, her voice a rough whisper.
Giving the woman a closer look, I took in her attire. She was dressed in a tight black fishnet bodysuit that left little to the imagination, her bruised body stark against the material. A small black bra did nothing to contain her ample breasts, which were adorned with piercings that matched my own. A miniskirt barely covered her hips, and fishnet stockings clung to her legs, ending in a pair of platform heels that looked like instruments of torture rather than footwear. Despite her rough appearance, there was something about her that made me feel less alone in this hellish place.
"I've been here nearly a week," the girl in the neighboring cell said, her voice a low murmur that barely made it through the thick metal bars. "They've got a whole operation going on here. We're all just merchandise to them."
"Shut up Sally, nobody cares about your sob story," a grim voice called out from further down the line of cages, cutting through the air like a knife.
*Clang Clang clang!*
"That's enough! No talking!" came a loud, male voice; the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hall. The green-eyed girl, Sally, pulled away from the bars, retreating into the shadows of her cell.
I layed there for a while, whimpering in pain from the clamps and the bruises from the fall making every breath a struggle. The cold floor beneath me was unforgiving, the smell of the mattress making my stomach churn. But it was the weight of the collar around my neck and the knowledge that I had just thrown away any semblance of mercy that truly crushed me.
"Hey, come here…" Came Sally's whispered voice again, a hint of urgency. I rolled onto my side, the chain attached to my nipple clamps clinking against the metal bars of my cell, and shuffled closer to the gap between our cages. "Lean against the bars."
With nothing to lose, I leaned against the bars of my cell, the cold metal pressing into my bare skin, the pain from the clamps making my eyes water. Sally, the girl with the green eyes, had seen the desperation in my gaze and had offered a glimmer of hope. Her hand, small but surprisingly strong, reached through the gap between the bars, her fingers deftly navigating the chain that connected the clamps to my rings.
"Hold still," she whispered, her eyes focused on the task at hand. With a swift twist, she loosened the clamp on one nipple ring, the relief almost painful in its intensity. I took a shaky breath, my eyes never leaving hers as she moved to the other side. The second clamp was released and I gasped, the air rushing into my lungs like a gust of fresh wind.
"I bet that feels better," Sally murmured, her eyes never leaving mine as she stretched her hands to reach the back of my neck. With surprising deftness, she unbuckled the ball-gag, her knuckles grazing my skin with a gentle touch.
My jaw ached as the gag was removed, and I took a deep, shaky breath. "Thank you," I croaked, my voice hoarse from screaming and the rubber ball. "Aren't they gonna get mad at you for that?"
Sally chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly warm in this cold, harsh environment. "Mad?" she repeated, her eyes glinting with mischief. "What more could they do to me?"
"I don't know," I whispered, still feeling the phantom pain of the gag on my tongue.
*CLANG!*
"I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!" The heavy boots grew louder, the guard's voice echoing menacingly through the corridor.
As quick as I could I scurried back to the mattress, lying down in the fetal position, feigning unconsciousness. Sally retreated into her cell, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before the guard's boots stopped outside mine. I could feel his eyes pierce the gloom, playing across my body, but he didn't linger, apparently satisfied that I was no threat.
When the echo of his steps had faded into the distance, I sat up, the relief of the removed gag and clamps bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I looked over at Sally's cell, but she had retreated into the shadows, out of sight. I didn't blame her for the caution. We were both in a dangerous game, one where the stakes were our very lives.
Hours dragged by, the only company being the distant sounds of the room. The occasional muffled cry from another captive, the squeak of a metal door opening and closing, the dull thud of booted feet on the hard floor. It was a symphony of despair that played on a constant loop in the background of my thoughts. Time lost all meaning, blurring into a never-ending cycle of pain, fear, and hope.
I shivered, wishing I had at least a blanket to cover up, my teeth chattering uncontrollably against the cold. Goosebumps lined my bare skin, each one a tiny bastion of protest against the chill that had seeped into the very marrow of my bones. The metal bars of the cage were unyielding, each one a cold sentinel that held me prisoner, mocking my futile attempts to find comfort. I pulled my legs closer to my chest, trying to create a pocket of warmth that the damp concrete and the biting cold air couldn't penetrate.
The only light in the cell came from the single bulb above, casting a sickly pallor over everything, making the shadows dance grotesquely on the walls. The flicker was a taunting metronome, ticking away the moments of my captivity with a rhythm that was both hypnotizing and maddening. My eyes were drawn to the patterns the shadows made on the floor as time passed, a macabre ballet that played out in the dimness, each twitch of the bulb changing the scene slightly, reminding me that even in the darkest moments, change was inevitable.
The sudden squeak of wheels on the cold floor snapped me out of my daze. The sound grew louder, more insistent, cutting through the symphony of despair like a shard of glass. My heart pounded in my chest as I strained to make out what was approaching. The wheels rolled closer, a metallic serenade that seemed to herald the arrival of fate.
Every time the sound stopped it was accompanied by the sound of sliding plastic, unable to keep my curiosity at bay I looked over to the source of the noise. A food tray was slid into the cell across from mine, the smell of something that resembled food wafted over and my stomach twisted with hunger. I hadn't eaten since the night before last, and the thought of what might be on that tray was both tantalizing and nauseating.
The guard pushing the cart turned to my cell and was about to place a tray down when he caught sight of me. Placing the tray back on the cart he motioned me over to him, his expression a mix of boredom and annoyance. As I approached the bars, he took a set of keys from his belt, made a twirling motion with his finger and waited for me to turn around. Understanding the guard's unspoken order, I turned my back to him, feeling a sizzle of hope ignite in my chest, the sound of the lock disengaging was a welcomed sound in this dim, unforgiving place.
"Step back, slave." The guard's voice was a low rumble, his eyes cold and unreadable. I complied, retreating until my bare back hit the cold concrete wall. He slid the tray through the bars, the clack of the plastic on concrete sounding like a death knell in the quiet cell. My stomach growled in protest, the smell of the food now a torment rather than a comfort.
When the guard's footsteps receded, I cautiously approached the tray. The plastic fork on the tray looked as flimsy as my hope, the food however, looked surprisingly edible. The green beans were a good color and the mashed potatoes had a warmth to them that seemed to radiate through the plastic plate. The beef tips were a mystery, their darkened edges hinting at slight overcooking, but the smell was surprisingly appetizing. The bottle of water was as generic as the meal, but in my current state, it might as well have been a bottle of champagne.
I picked up the plastic tray and carried it over to the mattress, my eyes never leaving the food. Each step was a deliberate movement, as if I were afraid to drop what might be my last decent meal. Sitting down slowly I placed the tray on my bent knees, the warmth of the food felt nice especially in comparison to the cold, hard floor beneath my feet.
With shaking hands, I took up the plastic fork and poked at the beef tips. They were tougher than I'd have liked, but the sauce they were in smelled heavenly, a mix of spices that seemed almost exotic in this dank, oppressive place. I took a bite, the meat was chewy and the taste was faintly bitter, but it was food, real food, not the glucose paste that I expected they might feed us. It was a small victory in a world where victories were as rare as sunshine.
As I ate, I couldn't help but glance over at the silhouette in the cell across from me. It was a woman, that much I could tell, but the details were lost in the shadows. Her outline was that of a statue, still and silent, watching me with unseen eyes. Looking to my left, I heard the quiet scrape of a plastic fork against a plate as Sally ate her meal. The sound was soothing, a reminder that I wasn't entirely alone in this hellish place.
Finally, the food was gone, and I picked up the water bottle, twisting off the cap with trembling hands. The water inside looked clear, and when I brought it to my nose it smelled fine, but when I began to sip it, a bitter metallic tang hit my taste buds. I paused, unsure if I should continue, but the dryness of my mouth was unbearable. The thirst won out, and I gulped down the contents greedily, feeling the liquid slide down my throat.
With the tray empty, I slid it back through a small slot at the bottom of the sliding metal door, the sound of the plastic scraping against the concrete sending a shiver down my spine. My stomach felt bloated and I realized I hadn't…you know.. in days. My eyes flitted over to the corner of the cell where the metal toilet sat, cold and unforgiving. The urgency grew with every second, my body reminding me that I was still human despite the inhuman conditions.
I shuffled over to the toilet, the cold floor sticking to my bare feet like a second skin. My legs quivered with the effort of holding back the inevitable. The moment I sat down, it was as if a dam had burst, and I couldn't hold back anymore. The relief washed over me in a wave, mixing with the shame of my predicament. I had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable in all my life.
With my bowels emptied, shame flooded back into me as my eyes darted around to see if anyone had watched me in my vulnerable moment. The corridor was empty, the only sound the distant echo of the guard's retreating footsteps. Grateful for the solitude, I wiped and cleaned up as best as I could with the rough toilet paper provided.
As I stood, the world tilted around me, and the room spun in a dizzying blur of shadows and concrete. The mattress was still a few feet away, a sad beacon of 'comfort' in this cold, unforgiving cell. I took a tentative step forward, my legs wobbly like a newborn foal's. Each step grew more difficult, my vision swimming like I was underwater. The room felt as if it were closing in around me, the walls pressing inward, the air thick and suffocating.
A sudden final wave of dizziness crashed over me, and the last thing I remembered was the desperate reach for the mattress as I toppled forward. It was like falling through a void, my body weightless and the last thing I felt before the world went black was the rush of air as I fell forward collapsing onto the stained fabric of the mattress.
"…blondie."
"Uhhhh."
"Hey blondie you need to wake up…there's something going on."
Sally's voice pierced the veil of darkness that had consumed me, pulling me back to the grim reality of my captivity. I blinked my eyes open, the world coming back into focus with the starkness of a nightmare. The bulb above me flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced across the concrete walls and bars of my cell.
"About time, I should have warned you not to drink that water," Sally's whisper was filled with a strange mix of concern and amusement. "They spike it with something to keep us compliant, I pour it down the drain and refill it with water from the toilet. Sounds nasty, but it beats being drugged out of your skull."
Trying not to think about the necessity of drinking from a toilet, I groaned while sitting up and tried to shake the cobwebs from my head as the room was still spinning slightly.
"What's happening?" I whispered, my voice weak and thirsty.
"They've been taking girls out of here all afternoon, stripping us of our clothes and fitting us with new restraints," Sally said, her voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. "It's not for a good reason, trust me."
Looking over at her, I noticed the change in her appearance. Sally had been stripped bare, the black fishnet replaced by a sleek leather collar that encircled her neck, plus wrist and ankle cuffs that matched. Without her whorish clothes on the only things that stood out on her now were the row of star tattoos that trailed up her side like a twinkling constellation, the shiny silver nose ring that caught the flickering light from the bulb above and the barbells that pierced through her nipples. Her breasts, now free of the flimsy material, were as large as mine and just as natural. Despite the bruises that marred her skin, she had a certain allure to her, a bubbly fiery spirit that seemed to burn brighter against the cold metal bars.
It was almost funny, a week ago I wouldn't have been caught dead talking to a prostitute, now she was the closest thing I had to a friend. "What do you think is going on?" I whispered back, my eyes still adjusting to the harsh light.
Sally shrugged her shoulders, the leather of her new restraints creaking softly. "Again, I don't know for sure, but Tanisha was the last girl to be taken out, and that was over twenty minutes ago. They're moving fast." Her green eyes searched mine, filled with a sense of urgency that was palpable even through the bars. "It's like they're getting ready for something big."
*Clang!*
The sound of the door at the end of the long corridor being opened was followed by the sound of three pairs of footsteps quickly approaching our cells at the end of the corridor. Eventually I caught sight of them, a beautiful black girl with long dark straight hair that fell like a waterfall down her back was flanked by two guards, their eyes cold and unfeeling as they marched her towards the cell opposite mine. She was dressed in nothing but the same matching set of cuffs and collar Sally now wore, her bare skin gleaming with sweat from the effort of resisting. Her eyes locked on mine for a brief second, and in that moment, I saw a spark of rebellion, a fire that refused to be quenched despite the horrors she'd surely faced here.
The guards shoved her into the cell and sliding the steel door shut, the metal bars rattling with the force of the impact. She stumbled, her legs giving out from under her, and she landed on her own small mattress. As the guards turned away from her I couldn't help but wonder if I was next, then I remembered I was already naked, the cold air playing across my bare skin. I looked down and startled, noticing the cuffs on my wrists and ankles weren't the same as before, they were sleeker than before, with no buckles in sight. They were made of leather with a metal clasp with a hexiconical hole in the middle, and the leather straps fit my limbs like a second skin, leaving no room for escape.
"They put those on you while you were still out," Sally murmured, her voice a mix of awe and fear. "They're not playing around anymore."
Indeed, they weren't. The sound of stilettos clicking against the cold concrete floor cut off the whispers and rustling of bodies. The echo grew louder, a harbinger of fate approaching, until it filled the entire space. Mistress Fox's silhouette appeared in the middle of the corridor, her heels striking the ground with the emphasis of getting everyone's attention.
"Ladies if I could get your attention," Mistress Fox's voice rang out, the stilettos clicking rhythmically with each step she took closer to us. Her red dress was like a beacon of power in the dimly lit hallway, the leather belt and the silver buckles gleaming like a weapon. "It's time to get you all ready for market, in a moment the guards will begin retrieving you one by one. You will be bathed, you will be dressed and then you will each be placed in separate stalls for a silent auction in the main hall."
My heart dropped into my stomach like a lead weight as Mistress Fox's words sank in. Market? Silent auction? I really was about to become a commodity, a thing to be bought and sold like livestock. The click of heels resumed as Mistress Fox continued her monologue.
"You will be groped, fondled, felt up and examined like cattle. And just so you all know, any girl not sold in tonight's auction will be…disposed of, so for your own sake I'd advise you to make sure you put on a good show," Mistress Fox's words sent a wave of fear through the holding cells. The sound of her stilettos grew closer, and I could feel the heat of panic rising in my chest, each click a drumbeat in the symphony of despair.
Her eyes fell upon me, a cold, calculating gaze that seemed to strip away any remaining vestige of dignity I had left. A cruel smile played upon her lips as she traced the edge of her jaw where I'd slapped her, her fingers lingering on the spot where I'd made contact. She turned on her heel, the rustle of her dress echoing through the corridor like the hiss of a snake.
With a snap of Mistress Fox's manicured fingers, the first woman was dragged from her cell, her whimpers piercing the heavy silence like a knife. I was too far down the long corridor to see what was happening, but the sound was clear and unmistakable. A wave of fear rolled through the cage-like rooms as the Mistress Fox passed by on her way out, leaving us to our thoughts.
The wait was agonizing, each minute feeling like an eternity as the seconds ticked away. The sound of the door opening twenty or so minutes later echoed through the corridor once more, and my heart rate spiked. Again I couldn't see what was happening, but the fear was palpable as the guards returned for their next victim.
I don't know how many hours went by before the guards arrived to take Sally away, but as I watched her give me a reassuring nod before the door to her cell was slammed shut, I felt the weight of the world crash down upon my shoulders. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoed through the corridor, a mournful reminder of my own fate. I curled up on the mattress, the leather cuffs digging into my skin, and closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sounds of the only friendly face I'd met in this hellhole being taken away.
The guards were much quicker in returning next, and judging by the anger in Tanisha's eyes, she wasn't prepared to go early…or at all. "Put your wrists behind your back," one of them barked, his voice echoing off the cold walls. The beautiful young black girl practically snarled in response, "Get away from me, y'all can't do this to me I-" her words were cut off as the guards lunged forward in unison.
I watched in horror as Tanisha's lithe body contorted in resistance, her legs kicking wildly as the guards tried to pin her to the ground. The sound of her bare feet connecting with their shins was a morbid symphony of defiance in the otherwise silent corridor. She was a fiery tempest in this cage of steel, her dark eyes flashing with the kind of anger that could set a soul ablaze.
However, no matter how much she struggled, the guards were too strong. They wrestled her to the cold concrete, her naked body contorting and straining against their powerful grips. Her long hair spread out like a dark halo around her head as they wrenched and locked her wrists behind her back. Soon the corridor was silent once more, I was the last and only one left in the row of cells. The anticipation was suffocating, and I felt the urge to scream, to fight, to do anything but wait for my fate.
But what good would it do, that young black girl had twice the fighting spirit I had and look where it got her. Her screams of protest had echoed through the cold corridor, the sound of her naked body slapping against the concrete was a sad song of despair. Each kick was a declaration of war, each punch thrown was a silent cry for help, and still she was overpowered.
When my turn finally came I was surprised to see Mistress Fox flanking the two guards, her eyes on me like a predator watching its prey. "Ah, slave," she said with a sadistic smile, "I've been looking forward to this moment, turn around and place your wrists behind your back."
Having seen what happened to Tanisha, I complied solemnly, turning away from the bars with a heavy heart. The cold metal of the cuffs's rings sent a chill down my spine as they were secured into place with a padlock. The harder leather of these new cuffs had less flexibility and comfort, reminding me of the gravity of my situation.
"Let's go, you're the last one," Mistress Fox said with a cold efficiency, the clack of her heels punctuating every word. I nodded, feeling the guard's grip on my arms as they led me out of the cell. My legs felt like jelly, and every step was a battle between fear and the need to keep moving forward. As we approached the end of the corridor, the light grew brighter, and the sound of Mistress Fox's heels were like a ticking clock counting down to my fate.
The guards escorted me down a series of halls, each one seemingly longer and more oppressive than the last. The air grew colder, and the sounds of the complex faded away, replaced by the rhythmic echo of Mistress Fox's stilettos on the unforgiving concrete floor. The corridors were empty and institutional, with the occasional buzz of fluorescent lights flickering above, casting eerie shadows across the walls.
Finally, we arrived at a doorway that felt more like a gateway to hell. It was flanked by no less than six guards, all dressed in the same black suits and sunglasses. Upon seeing us approach, two of them stepped aside, unlocking the heavy steel door they were standing around.
As the door swung open, the smell of hairspray and makeup wafted out, mixing with the scent of fear that hung in the air. Inside was a room that looked like a twisted version of a luxury salon. There was a large bathtub, filled with steaming water surrounded by three beauticians. There was also a swivel chair in front of a large vanity mirror, a rack filled with various outfits, and a table laden with makeup and hair products.
The next thing to catch my eye was the lineup of girls who had been through this ordeal before me. They stood shoulder to shoulder, a sad assembly of human merchandise dressed in various states of undress, from flimsy lingerie to barely-there bikinis. They had been transformed into living dolls, their hair and makeup impeccable, each strand in place and each stroke of color applied with precision.
"Alright ladies, I have your last client of the day," Mistress Fox announced to the beauticians as she escorted me into the room, her smile a chilling contrast to the fear etched into my features. The guards unlocked the padlock holding my cuffed wrists together, and I stumbled forward, the weight of the collar and cuffs feeling heavier than ever.
The three beauticians, one blonde, one brunette and one auburn, looked up from their stations with a mix of amusement and weariness in their eyes. The blonde looked me up and down, a smirk playing at her perfectly painted lips as she beckoned me towards the tub with a manicured hand. "Come on, don't be shy," she said with a sickly sweet tone that made my skin crawl.
I stepped into the water, the heat enveloping me like a warm embrace that was far too comforting for the hellish situation. The beauticians went to work, their hands rough but efficient as they scrubbed every inch of my body with a mix of soap and what I can only assume was a hint of sadism. The grime and filth of the last few days were peeled away, my bruises had faded but the memories remained etched into my skin.
I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips as the auburn haired woman massaged my scalp with the shampoo. The warmth of the water and the gentle touch was almost too much to handle after days of being manhandled by rough, cold hands. She worked the lather through my long blonde locks with surprising care, the scent of jasmine and vanilla filling my nose. It was a wonderful difference to the antiseptic stench of the rest of the complex. The warmth of the water and the soothing scent of the shampoo washed over me like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my soul.
Before I knew it, they were toweling me down and dragging me towards the vanity, the cold air a shock to my newly cleaned skin. I was sat down in the chair and the brunette began to brush out my hair with a brush that was surprisingly gentle. Once she had the tangles out, the auburn-haired beauty took over, her hands deftly working the straightener through my long blonde locks. The hiss of the hot metal and the smell of singeing hair filled the air, the smell was accompanied by the scent of nail polish as the blonde beautician began to meticulously fix my chipped manicure.
However it was the brunette who took up most of my focus. Her eyes were cold, almost as if she enjoyed the suffering of others. She began to work on my makeup, her touch deft and precise, as if she'd done this a hundred times before. The brushes gliding over my skin with the kind of ease that came from practice, and not the gentle touch of someone who cared about the subject. She painted my face with a thick layer of foundation, concealing the dark circles under my eyes while highlighting my cheekbones.
My lips were painted a bright cherry red, and my eyes given a dark smoky look that was both alluring and haunting in the harsh light of the vanity. The brunette's hand was steady as she applied the mascara, the brush grazing against my lashes with a precision that was almost tender. Before I knew they had finished and if I hadn't felt the cool leather of the collar around my neck, I might have even felt pretty.
The blonde beauty tech was just reaching for a tiny thong from the rack of lingerie, but she was abruptly halted by Mistress Fox's raised hand. "No, not that," she said with a smirk. "Our little slave here is special, she's going to be the belle of the ball."
With another snap of her fingers, one of the guards brought over a shoebox. I watched with trepidation as Mistress Fox lifted the lid and motioned for the girls to stand me up. Arms hoisted me out of the chair and onto wobbly legs, the leather cuffs cutting into my skin as they held me steady.
The first item they pulled out was an American flag bikini, and I felt my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The fabric was scandalously skimpy, barely covering my D-cup breasts and leaving my ass practically bare. The bikini rode high on my hips, the string cleaving my ass in two as the back was firmly wedged into place.
The final piece of the ensemble was a pair of bright red ankle strap peep toe stilettos that matched the thong perfectly. The heels were at least 5 inches tall and rounded, looking more like torture devices than shoes. They were secured to my feet with the same precision that the cuffs had been fastened, ensuring that every step was a battle to maintain my balance. My bright red painted toenails peeked out showing off a little extra bit of color. As the beauticians stepped back to admire their work, I couldn't help but feel a mix of vulnerability and anger, dressed in nothing but a scrap of fabric that barely covered my most intimate parts.
"There we go, an all American beauty, sure to draw attention from our out of country buyers," Mistress Fox said with a wink as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. The bikini, a mockery of patriotism, was so small it barely contained my breasts, leaving my nipple rings poking through the fabric like tiny metal stars. The thong was a scandalously thin strip of red and white that barely covered the apex of my thighs.
"Link her up with the others and let's get this meat market out on the floor," Mistress Fox ordered with a dismissive wave of her hand. The guards complied, leading me over to where the other girls were standing, their eyes downcast and their bodies on display.
Tanisha's eyes met mine briefly, her own cuffs now attached to the same chain that was now wrapped around the waist of fourteen other girls, creating a human daisy chain of despair. Each of us was a link in this macabre necklace, a symbol of our shared fate and the lengths to which we would be forced to endure. After padlocking my wrists together in front of me, my cuffs were then connected to the back of the chain wrapped around Tanisha's waist.
From what I could tell, there were thirty of us in total, fifteen girls to a chain, with the guards shuffling us around like we were livestock being prepared for slaughter. They lined us up in two neat rows of fifteen, our heels shuffling on the cold concrete floor. We were a rainbow of skin tones and sizes, each one of us a seemingly hand selected trophy for the wealthy and depraved.
The doors to the room opened and we were shuffled out, the clink of our chains the only sound outside a stampede of high heeled footsteps and hushed whispers. We were led through a labyrinth of corridors, the dim lighting cast eerie shadows across our bodies, eventually coming to a stop in front of a set of heavy double doors.
My heart was racing as we waited, the anticipation building in my chest like a tight coil ready to snap. I couldn't see or hear why we had stopped, but the sudden stillness of the guards and the tension in the air was palpable. From the back of the line, the only thing visible was the endless stretch of flesh in front of me, the chains connecting us like a morbid conga line.
Suddenly, a voice to my right whispered, "Relax, blondie. It'll be okay."
I looked over, surprised to find Sally standing beside me in a black bikini that barely contained her curvy frame. Her eyes were a mix of empathy and resilience, the same bubbly spirit that had first caught my attention in the holding cells. She wore black strappy heels that made her legs appear endless, I hadn't noticed her in the flurry of activity, my nerves had been so on edge that the sight of a friendly face brought a small semblance of comfort.
"How can you be so-" I was interrupted as the guard behind us hissed for us to be quiet. Sally's smile grew sadder, but she whispered back, "You gotta survive, girl. That's all we can do for now."
The doors finally swung open with a dramatic flourish, and as I neared the doorway I could see a cavernous space that took my breath away. It was an opulent convention-sized room that gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers. The walls were lined with plush velvet drapes in deep, rich colors that made me think of blood and power. Instead of the expected booths or fancy dinner tables, the room was filled with thirty or so six-foot-tall dark wooden stalls, standing tall like a macabre bazaar.
Each stall had a small wooden stand outside, with a leather-bound book and an elegant fountain pen placed atop it. The pens were black and gleaming, the nibs sharp and threatening in the dim light. The stands looked out of place in this sea of naked flesh, an odd juxtaposition of the civilized and the savage.
As we were pushed into the room, the guards began to arrange us in each of the stalls, one girl per stall. They'd detach one girl, bring her into the stall and in a moment the line would move on. When I finally got a look inside one of the stalls the line had passed by, I saw a pretty brunette with her wrists and ankles attached to a 3 foot tall metal pole, her body contorted into a display that emphasized her curves and made my stomach turn. Her eyes wide with fear and panic as she watched us shuffle by.
The line grew shorter with each passing moment, the thud of the doors closing behind us echoing through the cavernous room. Each step brought us closer to our individual prisons, and the reality of our fate grew heavier with every shuffle of the chain. The sound of the locks clicking into place was like a funeral dirge for our dignity.
Eventually it was down to just Sally and I as the final two stalls awaited their occupants. My heart was in my throat, each step forward feeling like a march towards my doom. The sound of the chains hitting the floor was like a death knell, strong hands gripped me by my arms and guided me into the stall.
The pole was cold against my bare skin as the guard positioned me with military precision, my lower back pressed firmly against the unforgiving metal. He bent down and fastened the ankle cuffs to the bottom two rings, pulling my legs apart to about a foot wide, leaving me balancing precariously on the balls of my feet in the high stilettos. The leather bit into my skin, the pain a stark reminder of the reality of my situation.
My wrists were next, each of the cuffs pulled behind my back and secured to the top two rings of the pole, leaving my arms tucked into the small of my back. The cold metal bit into my skin as I was forced into a pose that left my breasts thrust forward and my ass firmly wedged against the pole. The guard's grip was like a vice, and the sound of the padlock snapping shut was the final nail in the coffin of my freedom.
Giving each of my cuffs one last tug to ensure I was securely fastened, the guard stepped back, his eyes roaming over me like a predator assessing its prey. "That gag hanging on the wall is for bidders to use on you should you become too vocal, so be silent or you'll be silenced." Looking to the side, I saw a medium sized red ball-gag hanging next to a sign that read 'Slaves must be seen not heard'.
Gulping, I nodded as understanding washed over me, the fear thickening in my throat. The guard then left the stall disappearing out of sight and left me standing there feeling like a piece of meat on display. Looking across the aisle, I saw Sally with her own guard, her eyes wide with a mix of trepidation and determination. He gestured to the wall of her stall, and a similar gag to mine swung slightly from its hook. The implication was clear: speak out of turn, and you'll be silenced.
Our eyes met, and for a brief moment, the world outside the stall didn't exist. It was just me and Sally, two women from vastly different backgrounds, now bound together by the same unspeakable horror. Seeing the fear in my eyes must have sparked that confidence I'd seen in Sally earlier because she gave me a subtle nod of encouragement. She stood a little taller while I felt like my knees were going to give out from underneath me.
She seemed to be mouthing words at me but we were too far apart for me to make out what she was saying. Her eyes searched mine for a silent promise of solidarity. I nodded back, trying to convey the same determination despite the tremble in my chin. It was then a tone sounded through the large room, a single note that reverberated through the air like a gunshot at a race.
A procession of footsteps began somewhere in the distance to my right, growing louder and more pronounced with each passing second. The sound grew into a crescendo of power and anticipation as Mistress Fox's heels clacked against the marble floor, her voice floating through the air like a siren's call.
Her voice carried across the room welcoming the patrons with a syrupy sweetness that made my skin crawl. "Purveyors of the world's oldest art form, welcome to this exclusive showcase. Here we offer you a chance to own a piece of humanity at its purest, most vulnerable state to purchase for your business or own personal collection."
The woman droned on and on, but I could hardly hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat as the sounds of footsteps grew closer. The room filled with the murmur of voices and the clink of glasses, the atmosphere thick with the scent of money and power. The first few potential buyers strolled by, a pair of middle eastern men with gold-rimmed sunglasses, beards and robes, whispering to each other in a language I couldn't understand but the tone was one of appreciation, their eyes raking over me like I was a prize cow at an auction.
I tried to ignore them, to keep my head high and my eyes focused on the wall behind them, but it was hard when their gazes lingered on the tiny bikini, the fabric stretched tight across my breasts and the thong rode high up my ass. They pointed and talked animatedly, their fingers tracing the outline of my body like they were already claiming me. The word 'American' was tossed around like it was a prize-winning steak at a BBQ, something exotic and delicious to be savored.
Finally one of the men stepped forward, his hands reaching out to cup my breasts with an air of ownership that made me want to scream. He began to lift and squeeze them, his thumbs rubbing against my nipples in a way that was both painful and degrading. He turned his head and started speaking to his friend, his words lost in the babel of foreign language.
I gritted my teeth, but remained silent as the man's hands moved under my breasts, lifting them up and down as if they were nothing more than bags of flesh for his amusement. His friend, equally as detached, nodded along to whatever was being said, his gaze equally as hungry. The coldness of his touch and the indifference in their eyes was like a knife twisting in my gut.
Finally, the man's grip on me loosened and he stepped back, a greasy smile on his face as he sauntered over to the ledger. He scribbled something down with a flourish, his gold pen glinting under the chandelier lights. The sound of the pen on paper was like a seal being broken, a silent contract of ownership. The second man followed suit, his eyes never leaving my body as he added his own notes to the book.
As the two moved on, I couldn't help but feel a wave of relief wash over me. My eyes darted across the room to find Sally, her stall now occupied by a pair of women. They were dressed in elegant dresses, their hair styled in elaborate updos that gleamed under the light. They spoke in a mix of French and English, their voices a symphony of seduction as their fingers traced the curve of Sally's hips and the swell of her breasts.
What surprised me was that Sally was smiling as one of the women ran her fingers through Sally's buzzed hair, the other tracing her collarbone with a gentle touch that was almost affectionate. They whispered in a mix of French and English, their voices a melodic blend of seduction and power that had the men in the aisle leaning in to listen.
As one of the women stepped back to scribble her bid into the leather-bound book in Sally's stall, a wave of nausea washed over me. Just as she was about to place a bid, my view was abruptly obstructed by the entrance of a new pair of potential buyers. An elegant Indian couple, both dressed in vibrant traditional Hindu clothing, stepped into my own stall, their eyes glancing over me like they were inspecting a fine piece of art.
The man's gaze was cold and appraising, his dark eyes scanning my exposed body as if he were cataloging every inch of skin. Leaning he whispered something into his wife's ear, her own eyes narrowed as she took in the scene before her. She was a vision of elegance, her sari shimmering like a sapphire ocean, her nose stud glinting in the soft light. But the softness of her features was marred by the fury that contorted them as she listened to her husband.
She stepped forward, her eyes flashing with anger, and poked me sharply in the ribs. Her words were intelligible as she feathered my hair while angrily speaking to her husband in Hindi. I felt the sting of each word she spat out, even though I didn't understand them. One word did stand out which was 'American' and it was clear she was unhappy with what she saw, and the way she grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back, made me feel like nothing more than a doll to be manhandled.
But just as quickly as they had come, they were gone and I was extraordinarily grateful when neither of the Hindi couple placed a bid on me, their footsteps retreating back into the murmur of the crowd. I felt a brief respite as the aisle in front of my stall cleared, allowing me to catch my breath and regain some of my dignity.
Then a piercing yelp of pain shattered the quiet, echoing through the room like a gunshot. My head snapped towards the sound, my heart racing as I searched for its source. Across the aisle, I saw Sally's stall, and my breath caught in my throat. A well-dressed man in a dark suit and a panther mask like one might wear to a masquerade party was in her space, his hands on her body in a way that was anything but gentle. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her teeth were bared in a silent scream as she tried to maintain her composure, her body visibly trembling from the unwanted contact.
The man's masked face leaned in closer as he played with the barbells piercing Sally's nipples, twisting them with a cruel relish that made the air thick with the scent of fear and pain. His actions were deliberate, each twist and tug a deliberate cruel attempt to make her scream in pain. Sally's face was a mask of agony, her eyes screwed shut and her teeth clenched tightly to muffle her whimpers.
But then to my relief I caught movement out of the corner of my eye as I saw a burly guard approach from the left, his expression one of professional displeasure. The man in the panther mask must have sensed the guard's presence because he abruptly let go of Sally's breasts and took a step back, his hands smoothing out the wrinkles in his impeccable suit.
With his reason to intervene nullified the guard retreated, leaving Sally gasping for air and me feeling a surge of anger that coursed through my body like electricity. The man in the panther mask took a moment to compose himself, smirking at the retreating guard before placing a bid in Sally's ledger. The anger in me then quickly disappeared as it was replaced by fear when his focus zeroed in on me. He strode over with a confidence that screamed of wealth and power, his eyes devouring every inch of my exposed flesh like he was a starving man at a buffet.
Stopping in front of my stall, the man in the panther mask read from the ledger with a grin that I could hear even though I couldn't see it, "A great American beauty," his voice was smooth as velvet, but the malice behind his words was as cold as steel. His gaze raked over me, his eyes lingering on the star spangled bikini that barely contained my curves. "Who did you piss off to get an actual title, normally these ledgers just say ‘slave number such and such’."
I said nothing as he stepped up next to me, his breath hot against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. He leaned closer, his hand tracing a path along the side of my body, his fingers lingering on the cloth that covered my breasts. "Come on sugar, speak…or I'll make you scream instead," he said as he grabbed a handful of my long blonde hair and yanked my head back to meet his gaze, his eyes hidden behind the mask but the twisted smile in his tone speaking volumes.
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, "I slapped Mistress Fox." The words hung in the air like a grenade waiting to explode. His grip on my hair tightened and his eyes narrowed behind the mask, his grip on my hair painfully tight. For a moment, there was only silence, the sound of the room's murmurs fading into the background.
"That's rich, I have to admit I wish I could do the same," he chuckled darkly, his grip loosening slightly. "But you see, that's where the real fun begins. You're not just any old piece of meat, you're the one that slapped the ringmaster, which means you've got spirit and there’s nothing in this world I enjoy more than breaking a woman with spirit."
The sight of Sally's panic stricken face over the man's shoulder brought a spark of defiance to my eyes. The fear was still there, but it was now accompanied by a burning anger that ignited in the pit of my stomach. As the man in the panther mask stepped closer, his grip on my hair tightening, a sudden burst of bravado shot through me like a bolt of lightning.
I met his gaze, the malicious twinkle in his eyes only fueling my rebellion. "Fuck you," I hissed, my voice low and venomous. The words seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, the room's chatter briefly stalling at the sound of my open rebellion. The man's mask tilted to the side as if he were contemplating something, then he chuckled as he spoke, "In due time."
The man stepped back before glancing around the room, ensuring no guards were nearby. His eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, he reached up to the wall and unhooked the red ball gag. His movements were swift and precise, grabbing me by my hair and yanking my head back even further. My eyes widened in protest, but his grip was unyielding as he opened my mouth and shoved the gag inside, the coldness of the rubber making me gag.
With the gag in place, he stepped back and admired his work. His hand then reached out again, but this time, his touch was more than just a mere inspection. He began to feel me up, his hands moving over my body with a subtlety that suggested he was just getting a better look. His fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin of my stomach, tracing the outline of my bikini before delving lower, his thumb grazing the edge of my thong.
The panther-masked man's eyes gleamed with excitement as he felt the wetness that had pooled between my thighs, a reaction that was more from fear than arousal. He smirked, enjoying my discomfort as he slipped a finger under the fabric, teasing the delicate folds of my sex. Despite my efforts to remain stoic, a muffled whimper escaped my lips, and I could practically feel his grin grow wider. He leaned in closer, his hot breath ghosting against my ear as he whispered, "I can't wait to see what other reactions I can coax from you, my little patriot."
Then, without warning, his hands moved up to my breasts, finding the silver rings pierced through my nipples. He gave them a sharp twist, and the pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. The scream that tore from my throat was raw and desperate, echoing through the silent room and piercing the air like a shattered glass. My body jerked in response, the chains rattling against the metal pole as I tried to pull away from his touch.
"MR. LENIX!" Came a sharp voice from the aisle, slicing through the room like a knife. The panther-masked man's hands stilled on my breasts, his head snapping up like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Mistress Fox's high heels clicked against the marble floor as she strode towards us, her eyes flashing with an anger that could melt ice. "How many times do I have to remind you that the merchandise is not to be damaged unless you purchase it!"
"Sorry Lydia, I saw the fire in this one and couldn't resist," the panther-masked man, Mr. Lenix, replied with a chuckle, his grip on my hair loosening slightly as he stepped back. The cruel amusement in his voice was like acid in my ears, but the reprieve from his touch was like a cool breeze on a hot summer day.
"Please, make your bid and be done with it, Mr. Lenix," Mistress Fox's voice was icy, and the way she glared at him made it clear she was not amused. The room had gone eerily silent, a small crowd had gathered to witness the spectacle.
The man took a step back, his eyes never leaving mine, a silent promise of what was to come. After quickly scribbling something in the ledger, Mr. Lenix sauntered away, leaving me gasping for air and trembling with a mix of anger, pain and fear. Once the man was out of sight Mistress Fox smiled, almost predatorily, as she took in the sight of my tear-stained face and the painfully erect nipples that were a testament to Mr. Lenix's cruel attention.
The guard who had been watching the exchange stepped closer to me, waiting for Mistress Fox to step away before unbuckling my gag and hanging it back on its hook with a metallic clink. I took a deep, shaky breath, the taste of the rubber lingering on my tongue. When the guard walked off I avoided Sally's gaze, seeing a look of pity or encouragement would surely break me.
Five painfully long minutes ticked by without another visitor to my stall. The silence was suffocating, each tick of the clock echoing in the vast emptiness of the room. It was like the calm before the storm, the brief respite before the next round of horrors began.
Then, like a mirage in a desert, a group of Asian businessmen approached. Their suits were impeccable, their shoes gleaming like black ice. They spoke in rapid-fire Japanese, the words as incomprehensible to me as the situation I found myself in. The word 'American' was tossed around again like a hot potato, their eyes alight with curiosity.
For a few agonizing minutes, they simply observed me, their whispers a cacophony of business jargon and lecherous appraisal. They pointed at my body, their expressions unreadable behind their designer sunglasses. I felt like a specimen in a zoo, my skin prickling with the weight of their gazes.
Unlike the previous potential buyers, the Asian businessmen didn't immediately reach out to touch or fondle me. They remained a few steps back, their eyes scrutinizing my exposed flesh as if they were searching for imperfections. Maybe they had witnessed what had happened with Mr. Lenix and were wary of Mistress Fox's wrath.
Whatever the case they soon moved on, but not before placing a bid, their silent nods and the way they ogled me leaving me feeling soiled and used. The next group however wasn't so polite about their appraisal. It was a group of three Hispanic men, the two on outside were obviously flanking the man in the center, a man that could only be described as a bull. His muscles bulged through his shirt and his eyes were dark and hungry.
The man in the middle was the most striking of the trio, his wavy black hair was cut short and neat, and his goatee was trimmed to perfection. He wore a black suit with no tie, the top button of his maroon dress shirt undone, revealing a hint of chest hair and the collar open wide to expose the thick gold chain around his neck. His leather shoes were so shiny I could almost see my reflection in them.
The two men flanking him were obviously his bodyguards, both dressed in black suits that bulged at the shoulders from their muscular builds. The one on the left had a shaved head and a face that could have been chiseled from stone, with a jaw so sharp it could cut glass. The one on the right had a buzz cut, tattoos peeking out from his collar, and arms that looked like they could crush a man's skull with a single squeeze.
The Asian businessmen were just out of sight when the trio came into view. The man in the middle, the bullish one with the gold chain, caught sight of me and his step faltered. His bodyguards, caught off guard by his abrupt halt, paused and then backtracked with the grace of well-trained soldiers.
["Boss, what's up?"] The bald one of the bodyguards spoke quietly in Spanish and I was glad it was one of the few skills I had picked up over the years that I could understand the language. The man in the middle, the one who had caught sight of me, took a deep breath, his chest puffing out like a rooster ready to crow.
["Tell me about this one."] Came the gruff voice of the man in the middle, his Spanish accent thick and heavy. His eyes never left my body, his gaze a mix of hunger and curiosity. The bodyguard with the buzz cut stepped forward, reading from the ledger, "A great American beauty, [wow, look at the bids on this one. Her pussy must be made of gold for the price some of these idiotas are putting down."]
"Top it." The boss's gruff voice snapped out, cutting through the murmur of the crowd like a whip crack. The bald bodyguard looked up from the ledger, his eyes flicking to me and back to his boss before nodding curtly. "Sí, jefe."
"[Javier, are you sure about this? She's beautiful but-]" Javier's other bodyguard was cut off as the man in the maroon shirt stepped closer to the stall, his gaze burning into me as he gripped me by my chin and addressed his entourage.
"[This is why you'll never be in charge, cousin, you only see a price tag. I see the potential.?]" Javier's voice was a low rumble, the kind that could shake a mountain. His thumb traced the curve of my cheek before his hand fell away and I was left staring at the two bodyguards who stared at their boss with a mix of confusion and resentment.
"[Idiotas, I am opening up a new brothel in one of the biggest tourist destinations in all of Venezuela. Thousands of American beauties visit us every year and don't so much as pay the locals a bit of attention. A girl like this will attract so much business, she'll have earned her price tag a dozen times over before she even knows what hit her.]" Javier's voice was filled with a confidence that was almost infectious.
'God I wish I didn't understand Spanish' I thought to myself grimly. The way he talked about me, like I was a prized racehorse or a piece of prime real estate, made my stomach turn.
"Si Javier, I'm sure," the bald bodyguard said, his eyes never leaving mine as he scribbled something in the ledger with the confidence of a man who knew his place. The tattooed one remained silent, his expression unreadable behind his stern façade.
"[Come Hector, let's look around for any more diamonds hiding in the rough]." Javier's gruff voice was filled with excitement.
"[Javier, what about me?]" The tattooed bodyguard's voice was gruff, clearly annoyed at being left behind.
"[Emilio, you are going to stay here and outbid anyone who looks at this one. Understood?]" Javier's eyes bore into the tattooed bodyguard.
Emilio nodded curtly, his jaw tightening as he watched his boss and the other bodyguard walk away, their laughter fading into the buzz of the room. The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent battle of power and loyalty.
The next few hours were a blur of visitors, their hands and eyes a relentless assault on my dignity. Each time a bid was placed, the tattooed bodyguard stepped forward, his eyes never leaving me as he outbid the offer without breaking a sweat. It was a macabre dance of power, one that left me feeling like a pawn in a twisted game of chess.
But then, like a dark storm cloud on the horizon, the Panther masked man Mr. Lenix, returned. The tension in the air was palpable as he approached my stall, his eyes gleaming with malice. He looked over the ledger, his shoulders tensing at the sight of so many bids out doing his own and when he saw Javier's name at the top he practically snarled.
I watched wide eyed as he placed a new, more than likely ludicrously high bid, his hands shaking with a fury that seemed almost feral. The tattooed bodyguard stepped forward immediately, his expression unchanged, and casually added to my bid without so much as glancing at the man. It was like watching a tennis match, each volley of numbers escalating the tension in the room.
"Knock it off you brown piece of shit!" Mr. Lenix spat the words with such venom that it was a wonder they didn't leave a trail of poison on the marble floor. The tattooed bodyguard's eyes narrowed, his hand clenching into a fist at his side, but he remained stoic.
"Gentlemen, please, let's not ruin the ambiance with such vulgarities," Mistress Fox admonished Mr. Lenix, her voice a serrated blade slicing through the tension. She glanced between the two men, her smile frosty. "Remember, this is a place of commerce, not a street brawl."
Mr. Lenix's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his neck bulging as he ground his teeth together. His hand hovered over the ledger, as if he was contemplating another bid, but the tattooed bodyguard stepped closer, his bulk seemingly doubling as he stared the man down. The air grew thick with hostility, the only sound the crackle of electricity that seemed to dance around us.
Then, with a suddenness that took me by surprise, Mr. Lenix straightened up and took a step back, his eyes flicking to me and then back to the ledger. "You're right, she's not worth it," he said, his voice cold and dismissive. The tattooed bodyguard didn't move a muscle, his expression unchanged as he watched Mr. Lenix retreat. The panther masked man's footsteps grew quieter as he disappeared into the sea of potential buyers, the sound of his defeat echoing in my ears.
'This is a nightmare,' I thought, as I watched Mr. Lenix retreat, his final words echoing in my mind. 'This can't be happening to me.'
I was at least slightly grateful when I saw the two French women return multiple times to outbid Mr. Lenix. It was clear that they had taken a shine to Sally and were determined to have her at their bidding. Each time they stepped forward, their elegant heels clicking against the floor, their French whispers grew louder, filled with excitement and anticipation. It was funny, I hadn't had any true friends in years, but seeing someone who had shown me even a modicum of kindness in this hellhole receive some in return, even if it was in the form of a sadistic game of one-upmanship, brought me a small spark of happiness.
But that spark eventually faded when a guard accompanied by Mistress Fox came by and retrieved first Sally's ledger, then mine. I realized with a cold dread that my fate had been decided, and it was not in the hands of the kind French women. My heart raced as I watched the two of them flip through the pages, their eyes scanning the bids with a clinical detachment that made my skin crawl.
Mistress Fox looked up from the ledger, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. The malicious grin that spread across her face was like a dagger to the heart. She turned to her guard and nodded curtly. "It seems she's been quite popular," she said, her voice like velvet-covered knives. "Top bid goes to a Mr. Castillo for 75,000$, I think that's a new high for an untrained commodity."
The tattooed bodyguard's eyes remained on me, his expression unreadable. He had done his job, ensured that Javier's bid remained the highest, and with a final nod to Mistress Fox, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with the reality of my fate.
I was being sold off to spend the rest of my life in a brothel in Venezuela, to be used by some sick, rich man named Javier, probably a higher up in a cartel of some sort. My mind raced with fear and anger as the reality of the situation settled over me like a lead blanket. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the sounds of the room, but they only grew louder in my ears.
My only hope was that some anti human trafficking organization would swoop in and save me. But as the minutes stretched into hours and the auction room grew more crowded, that hope began to flicker like a candle in the wind. No doubt these people had done this before, had bought and sold countless women with the same cold efficiency.
Feeling hopeless I looked to my only source of comfort in this hellish place, Sally. However, she was being led away by a guard, her wrists now free from the locks that had held her captive in the stall. The sight of her leaving filled me with a bitterness so intense it could have curdled milk. But there, standing just a few feet away, were the two French women from earlier. They were dressed in elegant evening gowns that made them look like they had just stepped out of a fashion magazine, one of which was holding a leash attached to a collar around Tanisha's neck who stood behind them, looking defeated but not as broken as I felt.
It wasn't long before the guards started parading the other girls past my stall, each with their own leash and collar. Some looked terrified, their eyes darting around the room in a desperate search for escape. Others had resigned themselves to their fate, walking with a stoic grace that spoke of a deep inner strength I could only hope to emulate. Each step they took was like a hammer to my soul, a stark reminder of the life that awaited me.
Sometimes it would be one, sometimes two, but they all had leashes attached to their necks as they were led by the guards. Each girl was a terrifying reminder that my time was almost up. Then finally two guards approached the stall that had been the stage of my humiliation, one of the guards wad holding the leashes of two girls who stood behind them. The first was a pretty native American girl with long straight black hair wearing a blue bikini and the second was a curly haired redhead in green lingerie, both of whom looked like they could be models.
The other guard stepped forward and bent down, unlocking the cuffs from the pole. Next he stood up and attached a leash to my collar before stepping behind me to unlock my cuffs from the pole. He then padlocked my wrists behind my back, the heavy duty lock adding a bit of weight to my already heavy heart.
With a tug on my collar, the guards led us down the aisle, the clank of the leash echoing in the cavernous room. The scantily clad girls before me swayed awkwardly, their heads held high despite the degradation. The crowd of potential buyers watched us with a mix of greed and lust, their eyes roaming over our bodies like we were on a buffet line. My heart hammered in my chest as we approached a seating area set before a small stage.
On the small stage, Javier Castillo stood with the same bullish confidence that had drawn my gaze when he first saw me. His bodyguards flanked him, one bald and the other tattooed, both radiating an intimidating presence that made the crowd part like the Red Sea for Moses. Mistress Fox stood next to them, a smug smile playing on her lips as she watched the parade of human flesh she had orchestrated. My legs felt like lead as the guard tugged at the leash attached to my neck, pulling me closer to the stage and the man who had just bought me.
Javier's eyes met mine as we were brought before him, and there was something in that gaze that was more than just hunger or possession. There was a challenge, a spark of curiosity at what kind of fire he had just bought for his fledgling business. He turned and shook hands with Mistress Fox, a gesture that made bile rise in my throat. This woman had been my tormentor, and now she was handing me over like a prize to a victor.
"The special limousine you requested is parked in loading bay 5, Jeffery here will escort you and your… acquisitions to it," Mistress Fox purred, her eyes lingering on Javier Castillo, the wealthy man who had just bought me and the other two girls like we were cattle at an auction.
"Mrs. Fox, if you don't mind I have a request." Javier's deep voice rumbled as he spoke, the confidence in his tone unmistakable even in a room full of powerful men.
"And what might that be Mr. Castillo?" she replied with a raised eyebrow.
"Could we get three of the…uh," Javier made a gesture against his mouth like he was holding an apple, "It is going to be a long drive and I have no wish to hear bargaining or pleading."
Mistress Fox's smile grew even wider, if that was possible, and she snapped her fingers. A guard approached the three of us carrying a tray with three shiny red ball gags. I couldn't help the groan that escaped my lips as my jaw was pried open and the cold rubber was forced into my mouth, the straps buckled tightly behind my head. The sound of the other two being gagged echoed through the room, the muffled protests and whimpers of the native American girl and the redhead muffled by the thick rubber.
"Thank you again, Mistress," Javier said, his eyes never leaving mine as he took the leash from the guard's hand, leaving his bodyguards to guide the other two girls as we followed the guard Mistress Fox had instructed. The ball gag in my mouth made it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, but I could feel my heart racing as we made our way through the complex's labyrinth of corridors until we arrived at an elevator.
The guard pushed a button on the panel after swiping a keycard, and the elevator doors glided open to reveal a double entrance elevator like one might find in a hospital. Once we were all inside the guard pushed another button and the elevator ascended smoothly. The only sound was the muffled protests and whimpers from the other two girls and the occasional jingle from our leashes. I stared at the floor, trying to keep the panic at bay as we climbed higher and higher. The air grew thick with anticipation and fear.
Finally, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened to reveal a dimly lit garage identical to the one I'd arrived in with Oswald. But instead of the black sedan that had brought me here, a long, sleek limousine was parked in its stead, its black surface and chrome trim gleaming under the harsh lights.
Another tug to my leash snapped me out of my daze and the only sound echoing in my ears was the clack of our heels on the concrete as we were marched towards the limo. Javier's hand remained firm on the leash attached to my collar, his grip tight and controlled as if he expected me to bolt given half a chance.
"Hector, secure those two," Javier's voice was firm, his eyes still on me as he gestured to the tattooed bodyguard. The tattooed man nodded, first pushing the redhead into the limo's embrace, then climbed in after her. A minute later he stepped out and grabbed the native American girl by her elbow, his grip tight as he helped her into the car. She stumbled a bit, the leash still attached to her collar, but she managed to get inside without tripping.
When the tattooed man re-emerged from the limo, he looked at Javier expectantly, but it was obvious the man holding my leash had other plans.
"[Hector, Emilio, get in the Front, I'm going to settle in back with our new acquisitions.]" Javier's words were a command, and while Hector jumped to follow, Emilio's expression was a mix of annoyance and confusion. But he too obeyed, leaving us standing at the back of the limousine.
The next thing I knew, Javier had shoved me so hard that I stumbled over my own feet, falling face first onto the floor of the limo with my feet hanging just outside the door. With the wind knocked out of me it took me a moment to recognize the feel of my ankle cuffs being locked together. Javier then climbed in over me, pulling me all the way in and finally pulled the door shut with a thud.
I felt the limo rumble to life beneath me and when I looked up it was to find Javier leaning back on the rear bench seat. I groaned as one of his shoes pressed into my side and rolled me onto my back, the leather digging into my skin. He looked down at me with a smug grin, his dark eyes gleaming with something that was part excitement and part… I didn't want to think about what the rest was.
Tilting my head back, I could see the other two girls tightly secured to the bench seats near the privacy divider at the front of the limo. Multiple straps criss crossed over their chests and waists, their arms bound behind their backs. The native American girl's eyes met mine, filled with a mix of terror and anger, her cheeks flushed a dark red from the gag. The redhead's gaze was more vacant, a haunted expression that made it clear she had likely been through this before.
The sound of the large rolling door lifting up was the only sound that pierced the eerie silence of the garage as the limo began to roll out. Javier's foot remained firmly planted on my side, a silent reminder of his dominance as we exited the complex. I squirmed under his weight, the carpet of the floor sticking to my bare skin as the gag muffled any protest.
The privacy divider rolled down and Hector's face appeared, his expression a mix of amusement and boredom. "[Boss, is there anywhere you want to stop along the way?]" He glanced at the GPS screen before meeting Javier's eyes in the mirror.
Javier's foot pressed harder into my side as he considered Hector's question. "[No stops, Hector,]" he finally said, his voice thick with the promise of impending action. "[We need to be at the port as soon as possible. You and Emilio can take turns driving.]"
"[And what about you]," Emilio asked, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, "[aren't you going to drive?]"
Javier smirked, his gaze still fixed on me, his shoe pressing harder into my side, "[I'm the boss, I don't have to drive.]" He leaned back and hit the button to close the privacy divider with a soft hiss. The sudden isolation from the rest of the car was suffocating, and the pressure in my chest grew as the weight of my situation settled on me like a heavy blanket.
"Well my American beauty, it's going to be a long drive so let's find out if you're worth the money I paid for you." Javier's smug tone washed over me like a gavel delivering a sentence.
* Five days later *
Staring vacantly out the SUV's window I barely paid attention to the ramshackle huts and poorly cobbled together shacks made from sheet metal of the poor district of whatever unknown city we were traveling through. The trip down to wherever we were had been agonizingly slow or at least that's how it felt to me. During the initial journey across the country my time had been split between staring out the window of the limousine and being relentlessly used by Javier along with the other two girls.
The redhead and native American girl had become silent companions in this hell, our eyes often meeting in silent communication of shared fear and despair. They had not been gagged after the initial shock of the first night had worn off, but I remained silent, the taste of the ball gag still lingering in my mouth. The only sounds in the backseat had been the occasional whimpers from the redhead and the low, guttural grunts from Javier as he used one of us after another.
Eventually, the limo pulled to a stop beside a run-down dock that jetted out into a vast, inky ocean. The salty sea breeze filled my nostrils as we were yanked out of the vehicle and onto the swaying wooden planks, the smell of fish and diesel thick in the air. The moon cast a ghostly pall over the scene and we were shuffled towards a large, sleek, matte black speed boat bobbing in the water. The waves lapped at the dock's edges, a rhythmic, taunting reminder of the freedom that was just beyond our grasp.
For the next two days, the rhythm of the speedboat's engine became the only constant in our lives as we were ferried from one desolate port to another. The vast, endless horizon taunted us with the promise of freedom, yet each time we approached land, it was met by the grim reality of another dock, another set of shadows waiting to claim us.
What really bothered me about the whole ordeal was the lack of any real resistance from the authorities. I had hoped, prayed even, that we'd be spotted by the coast guard or some form of law enforcement that would swoop in and save us from this nightmare. But the ocean was vast, and we somehow remained invisible to the outside world, a dark stain on the horizon that no one seemed to care about.
On the fourth day of our journey, we finally saw land. My heart leapt into my throat as the speedboat docked at a small, unassuming port, surrounded by thick jungle. The promise of solid ground was a mirage of hope that was swiftly crushed when a black SUV pulled up, its tinted windows concealing any hint of the horrors that awaited us inside.
The guards unceremoniously dragged us out of the boat, our legs wobbly from days of confinement. Javier's grip on my leash was ironclad as he led us to the vehicle. The redhead and native American girl stumbled along behind me, their eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. The doors opened, revealing two rows of plush leather seats. We were pushed into the back row and secured with seat belts, a mockery of safety in our current situation.
The next 17 hours were a blur of pain and fear as the black SUV tore through the thick, untamed jungle. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of wet earth, the relentless thrum of the engine the only constant in our lives. Every few hours, we'd come to a stop and Javier would pull one of us out, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he chose which one of us he would use to break up the monotony of his trip.
My body was a map of bruises, my pussy swollen and sore from the endless abuse. The leather seats of the SUV stuck to my skin, the stickiness a constant reminder of my degradation. The only comfort I had was the silent solidarity of the redhead and native American girl, their eyes speaking volumes as we were passed around like party favors.
But then, as the sun began to dip below the buildings, casting long, eerie shadows across the dirt road we were on, hope bloomed in my chest like a desert flower after a rare rain shower. In the rearview mirror, I caught sight of flashing lights. My heart leapt into my throat, a silent prayer echoing through my mind. Could it be? Were we about to be saved?
The SUV skidded to a halt, the sudden stop throwing me into the seat in front of me. The guards exchanged tense glances before Javier's calm voice cut through the silence, "Relax, I'll handle this."
Hector jumped as a knock resonated against the driver's side window, shattering the tense silence that had settled in the SUV. His hand instinctively reached for his gun, but the tattooed bodyguard behind him put a firm hand on his wrist, silently reminding him of his role. The window rolled down, and a figure in a crisp military uniform leaned in, the gold bars on his collar glinting in the fading light. His eyes swept over us, a flicker of disgust crossing his face before he addressed Javier in a gruff Spanish accent, "[Señor Castillo, what do you have in your possession that requires such… special transport?]"
Javier's smug smile never wavered as he leaned back in his seat, the leather creaking beneath his weight. He held out an envelope, "[Souvenirs from America,]" he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The man took it, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the wad of cash within. He glanced back at us, the corners of his mouth twitching into a greasy smile.
The military officer took the envelope, his thumb caressing the crisp edges of the bills before he tucked it into his pocket. He straightened up, the smile on his face never reaching his eyes. "[Very well, Señor Castillo,]" he said, his tone oily. "[I wish you a safe journey and I'm sure your… souvenirs will be well appreciated.]"
My heart plummeted into my stomach, the hope that had briefly flickered out like a candle in a hurricane. The bribe had worked. We were going nowhere but deeper into this nightmare. The guard's grip on my leash tightened as the uniformed man stepped back, the thud of his boots retreating down the dusty road. The tinted window rolled back up, sealing us in our cocoon of despair once more.
Collectively the three of us breathed a sigh of despair as the military figure took the bribe and disappeared into his vehicle and drove away without a second glance. The hope that had briefly sparked was now a distant memory, replaced with the heavy weight of our new reality. Javier tapped the dashboard urging Hector to drive on and with a relieved look, the engine roared to life once more.
As the SUV pulled forward, I heard Emilio's deep chuckle from the middle row. He turned to Javier in the front passenger seat, his smile a grim reflection of the monster he was. "[It's always entertaining to watch them get their hopes up,]" he said in Spanish, his words a cruel knife twisting in my gut. Javier's eyes met his in the rearview mirror, a silent agreement passing between them as they shared a dark laugh.
After another 15 minutes or so, the city thinned out around us and the headlights of the SUV pierced the gloom ahead to reveal an elegantly styled brick wall with metal spiked fencing atop it. The fence surrounded a sprawling two-story home that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a luxury magazine, complete with lush landscaping and a grandiose iron gate that swung open as we approached. The sight of the fence made my stomach drop even further.
The sight might have been picturesque if not for the well dressed guard standing at the gate, his posture ramrod straight, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. The Doberman at his side was a sleek, muscular creature, its eyes gleaming in the dark like twin pools of oil, the leash in the guard's hand tight enough to make the dog's hackles rise. The walls of the home were a warm terracotta color, the windows framed by intricate wrought iron bars that whispered of the darker intentions that lay within.
Javier turned around in his seat and spoke smugly with the biggest shit eating grin on his face, "[Welcome to casa de la flor que florece, ladies,]" he said, his eyes sweeping over us like a general surveying his spoils of war. "[Your new home]."
End.